A/N: Just a quick little one-shot, written for a friend's birthday.
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"Y'know," Trudy says as she adjusts her grip on the forceps, "you're actually pretty lucky."
"Lucky?" Even breathy with pain, Grace's voice is scathing. "Not to point out the obvious, Marine, but I've been shot."
"Few inches to the left, and the bullet would've hit various organs and you'd be fucked." Trudy smirks, because if she didn't smirk and quip, she'd want to hit something. Someone, anyone, herself, because Grace is her damn responsibility, and now the woman is lying on the floor of Site 26, bleeding. "So that flab of yours did some good."
"Excuse me?"
Grinning wickedly now, Trudy continues. "Nothin' to be ashamed off, Doc. Pretty good shape given you're what, seventy?"
"Sixty. Chacon, would you just get the damn bullet out?"
"Yes, ma'am." She sighs, slightly more serious. "This is gonna hurt. More," she adds before Grace can say anything. "Okay, Jake, grab her shoulders, Norm, grab her legs. Grace," she says to get her attention, because Trudy so rarely uses her first name, "bite down on this. Hate for you to bite your tongue."
"Careful there, Trudy," Grace says, with an actual smile, "someone might think you care."
"Lies," Trudy mutters. "Okay, here we go," and with that, she leans forward and gets to work at pulling the bullet out.